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I set the bag on the counter and use a knife to carefully slit the plastic, the icy vapor hissing as it escapes. The contents shift, revealing a glistening, dark red mass.
My lungs collapse as I realize what I’m looking at.
“It’s a heart.” Frankie steps forward, her face pale as her medical training takes over. “A human heart.”
A shudder runs through me, and my throat works, swallowing repeatedly against the rising bile.
I reach back into the box, my fingers brushing against something else. Another plastic bag, but this one contains a photo.
Pulling it out, I stare at the haunting picture, my blood running cold.
A man lies on the icy shore of a river, the rugged, frozen landscape around him stark and unforgiving. His hair is dark and tousled, his body, though pallid and lifeless, retains the tall, lean build of the Strakh family line.
What seals the identity beyond doubt is the blood-stained coat he’s wearing. A coat I gifted to Frankie years ago. The one he borrowed from her the day he jumped off the cliff.
“No.” She chokes, covering her mouth and shaking her head. “No, no, no!”
The image is clear enough to see the tear in the fabric where the rocks must have shredded it during his fall. But with the coat zipped closed, it’s impossible to know the condition of his body beneath and whether it still contains a heart.
His face, though partially obscured by snow and ice, is undeniably Wolfson’s, his shockingly familiar features passed down from me.
“Someone took this picture,” I rasp. “Someone who wasn’t Wolf.”
“Someone cut out his heart,” she whispers.
I go numb, the world around me fading to a dull hum.
My son.
The pain is too much, threatening to consume me, but I force myself to stay present, to be the anchor for my family.
Frankie staggers back, her face contorted in agony as she lets out a guttural cry.
“What the fuck?” Leo’s furious roar crashes against me, his body curving into attack mode.
Kody stands frozen, the photo of his mother still clutched in his hand, forgotten.
“It can’t be him. It can’t be.” She crumples against Leo, tears streaming down her face, her anguish more than I can bear.
I want to comfort them, to tell them it’s a joke, a misunderstanding, but the evidence is undeniable. I remain frozen, unable to process the horror before me. My heart feels like it’s being crushed in a vise.
“This…this isn’t real.” Leo wraps his arms around her, his voice breaking. “Maybe it’s a fake. Someone could’ve created it to fuck with us.”
“I’ll have the photo analyzed,” I say, monotone. “We’ll confirm its authenticity.”
“Who would do this?” Her breath comes in ragged gasps, the sight of her tears a knife to my soul. “Who would be so cruel?”
Kody’s reaction is the most heartbreaking. He stares at the photo of Wolf, his face contorted in pain, yet no tears come. His sadness is too deep, too profound to channel outward.
“You killed Denver wearing that coat.” I point to the blood stains that cover the chest area. “Do you remember where the splatter concentrated?”
“No. I…” She studies the image. “I shot him and beat him with a pipe. The coat was ruined. That’s why Wolf made me take his.” Her voice breaks. “We argued about it.”
“We’ll figure it out. A DNA test will confirm it.” I lift the photo closer to my face.
“Monty…” Her body shakes with sobs, her green eyes flooded with tears. “There’s writing on the back.”
A fist closes around my airway as I flip over the photo and read aloud. “To Frankie. I have outlasted all desire. My dreams and I have grown apart. My grief alone is left entire. The gleanings of an empty heart.” My breath stumbles. “Another Pushkin quote.”
